Death of Seasons
by Seph Meadowes
Summary: These violent delights have violent ends. Mordred/Hermione. Companion piece to 'This Time Imperfect'. Complete.


_"These violent delights have violent ends And in their triumph die, like fire and powder, Which, as they kiss, consume."_

**-William Shakespeare, (Romeo and Juliet, Act II, Scene VI) **

**

* * *

**

He doesn't remember much of his parents. Actually, he remembers nothing.

All his memories were at the druid camps, learning magic in between laughter and lewd jokes around the bonfire.

The people there nurtured him, accept him and are what he only knows.

He doesn't know anything of his parents, who they were, what they look like, where they were and most of all, why they didn't want him.

All he has to go by is a mysterious golden locket with green stones embedded in the intricately engraved 'S' and a piece of paper, yellowing and worn with age with words written in an penmanship familiar to him after staring at it for so many years.

_Remember who you are._

Four words and nothing more. Cryptic and seem to hold no meaning.

For how could he understand possibly understand them?

He didn't know who he really was to begin with.

* * *

His youth is marred with difficulties.

He lives in a world where he is hated for what he is, for being able to do such wonderful, beautiful things with magic.

He loves magic.

Breathes it like oxygen as the feeling, the rush goes through with him.

To himself, he is perfectly normal.

To them, he was an abomination.

He's still naïve.

And he watches as they take his master away, running in fear as his heart beat quickly in his chest.

* * *

He feels safe with Morgana and he tries his best to try and comfort her as she realizes what she is.

She's magical, he's known from the very moment he met her. And he doesn't realize why she's afraid.

It was wonderful, beautiful.

Why would she ever fear it?

He thinks he starts to understand when those knights – _monsters_ raid the camp.

He watches the blood of his people be spilled to the ground.

The feeling of magic around him masked by fear and hate.

* * *

His life is plagued by death and hate.

Everyone around him keeps dying.

And what for?

He doesn't know.

Why do they hate them so much?

What have they done?

Screams and blood and corpses on the ground.

The monsters have come to kill again.

He feels his heart fill with hatred and he makes a vow.

Never forgive.

Never forget.

He glares at Emrys.

_Until you're all dead.

* * *

_

He's shed some of that naiveté as a wide-eyed boy and he learns more about magic.

He finds refuge in an eccentric blonde witch named Morgause.

She smiles at him in secretive way like she knows something he doesn't.

But he ignores it as Morgana welcomes him with open arms.

He can hear the wheels of fate set in motion.

He reads texts and tombs about magic, listens attentively to every lesson his new master would teach.

He reads.

He learns.

And he does this with determination.

Because a part of him hopes that maybe he'll find out whom he really was.

And maybe along the way, why everyone seemed to hate him so much.

* * *

Years pass by and he is already at the cusp of manhood when Morgause deems him 'ready'.

He's learned all he could possibly can.

And he knows he'll put it to good use when Morgause starts to plan for battle.

That familiar hatred brimmed in his chest as he reminisces of blood, death and fear.

War is coming.

And everything would change.

* * *

He wonders why out of all the books he's read one of them wasn't something like 'How to Kill a King', 'So, You Want to Destroy a Kingdom?', or 'Revenge for the Frustrated Wizard'.

He read about potions, spells and magical theory. Learned how to translate runes and master his magic.

But none of that really came in handy when it came to plotting King Arthur Pendragon's downfall.

They were outnumbered and more or less outmatched.

And they needed an advantage.

Strike at the weakness.

But what? What was Arthur's weakness?

He meets Eirian Pendragon in the woods one day, a fire in her eyes and her jaw set as she refuses to back down.

He is intrigued and mockingly bows down.

"Princess."

She glares at him harder and he's amused.

Even more when her breath hitches as he introduces himself.

* * *

Eirian Pendragon fascinates him.

He's never met anyone quite like her.

Headstrong, so painfully clever and determined.

Yet so kind-hearted to those around her. Even to them, her kidnappers.

He doesn't understand how she could possibly be so amiable. He certainly wouldn't if their situations were reversed.

But she smiles at them as if she was their guest and not their prisoner.

She is so odd.

He doesn't know what to think.

* * *

She serves as the best entertainment for him.

In between, all the stress of planning Camelot's destruction, she serves as his comic relief.

Nothing can quite cheer him up than her face reddening as he insults her shoddy spell work.

He was more than surprised to learn that the princess, the only heir to the Camelot throne, was a witch.

It made irony look ironic.

And he laughs as she tries her best to cast another spell, laughing even harder at her aggravated expression.

* * *

He supposes there must be something wrong with him.

Because starting to care for the daughter of the man he hated, whose family had done nothing but caused misery and death to his people, is absolutely mad.

He is sick.

A traitor.

A hypocrite.

But he can't really seem to care anymore as he captures her lips in a heated kiss.

The laughter and singing around them blurring with the taste of ale.

* * *

He is in love.

With the most stubborn, annoying, smart-mouthed girl he has ever had the misfortune to meet.

But he loves her.

For some unknown reason even magic couldn't explain.

And she loves him too.

He's somehow able to tell by the way she smiles at him as she awakes in the morning. His arms around her as she snuggled closer to him.

"_Mordred."_

She whispers his name in greeting and he smiles in return.

* * *

The day of the battle comes.

And he knows that the outcome would determine everything. His people's freedom and the end to all the madness he's had to deal with his entire life.

He doesn't know how it will all end.

A part of him is scared but not for himself but for the girl he loves.

And his unborn child who will hopefully be born in a world past the time of blood and death, he grew up in.

He gives her the golden locket, his prized and only possession from the parents he's never known.

"_Run."

* * *

_

To everyone who's known the legend with its different versions and retellings, everyone would know he dies that day.

Of course, he's not really surprised.

_These violent delights have violent ends._

One man would write some day.

It all ends in blood, hate and fear. Just like the world he was born into.

Wracked with confusion four words ring in his mind.

_Remember who you are._

He'll never understand what those words really mean or why his father left him with only those words to go by. But with a bitter thought, he supposed it didn't matter.

Perhaps Hermione or his son would know. Meet the man who left him to play out the cruel fate laid out for him.

The thought gives him peace.

And he takes his last breath.


End file.
